


legends never die

by colfield



Category: Julie and The Phantoms (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:15:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27986802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colfield/pseuds/colfield
Summary: They say if you listen carefully, in the right light, with the dust pirouetting in the glow of the stage lights and the sun dried scent of wood fresh in the air, you can hear the phantom notes of long forgotten songs.
Relationships: Alex/Willie (Julie and The Phantoms)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 95





	legends never die

**Author's Note:**

> this was a prompt for my music wrapped list that clearly got away from me, as they tend to do. The song was Legends Never Die (feat Shania Twain) by my absolute favorite Orville Peck, which is where the title is from. I wrote this all in one sitting and only did a quick skim for typos, so I apologize if there are mistakes.

_They say if you listen carefully, in the right light, with the dust pirouetting in the glow of the stage lights and the sun dried scent of wood fresh in the air, you can hear the phantom notes of long forgotten songs._

“Ghosts,” Willie had said, wiggling his brows.

“Bullshit,” Luke had countered, kicking his heels into the stage. “This place remembers. She keeps the music.” He rubbed his hands lovingly along the polished vinyl flooring.

The conversation had then devolved into Luke’s obsessive devotion to a club that barely paid them enough to cover their bar tabs at the end of the night.

But something had stuck in the back of Alex’s mind, a prickle he couldn’t ignore.

Reggie swore he’d heard the faint whispering of delicate piano trailing him backstage. Luke had encountered twangy guitar in the rafters, the murmur of a bass behind the bar and, on one occasion, a woman’s voice lingering in the space between the end of their song and the roar of applause. Julie’s heard it the most by far - the music seems to follow her, rubbing against her like an affectionate pet. She’s perpetually humming half-finished choruses and incomplete bridges to herself. Some of them end up in their songs, smoothed and prettied by Julie’s voice, a monument to those who played before them.

Even Willie had confessed to hearing the rolling thunder of a drum solo while closing late last summer.

The only one who hasn’t heard the music is Alex. Not even one single, solidarity note.

He’s moping about it on the floor of the club, absently twirling his drumsticks and hoping on desperate faith that he’ll hear _something_.

Willie is bare-foot and bare-chested, when he finds Alex, still dressed in the classic blue jeans and pink leather vest from the show. Reggie’s idea for a country-themed drag show went over too well with their usually waspish boss. Willie had been roped into MCing the show, and he’s still got the white cowboy hat tipped carelessly on his head. He jumps over the back of the bench Alex has been brooding on, swinging one leg on either side so he’s facing him. Alex can’t look directly at Willie, the endless bare skin and the flash of dark ink curling his biceps, without blushing.

“Where’d you go?” Willie raps his knuckles lightly against Alex’s temple.

Alex sighs, dragging his thumb along the rough-edged chips in his drumstick. “It’s dumb.”

“Never,” Willie says immediately. Alex smiles a little. The distance between them halves as Willie shifts closer. “Come on, try me.”

“It’s just-” Alex cuts off, annoyed with himself for being annoyed at the situation. His drumstick fall with a clatter. It’s silly - there’s no such thing as ghosts. That’s why he hasn’t heard any drifting melodies or distant scales of a tuning instrument. Because if there was music lost to time, remembered only by the wood and glass and metal surrounding them, and if Alex is the only one who can’t hear it, then -

Then it means that Alex is the problem.

“Why do you think I can’t hear it?” He asks, small.

“Oh, Alex,” Willie’s breath is a gale, rushing from his lungs to fill the territory between them with pity.

“See,” Alex chuckles, wiping a rough hand over his cheeks. “It was stupid.”

Willie drums his fingers on Alex’s thigh, an erratic staccato that distracts Alex as he tries to place the rhythm. “Maybe,” he says, slowly, testing the word, “maybe, you just aren’t listening.”

That surprises Alex. He turns to Willie, unsure if he’s offended or hurt. Willie’s expression is enough to tamper any unease.

“You’ve got so much noise up here,” and he taps Alex’s temple again, letting his thumb brush along Alex’s hairline, “it’s drowning out the noise out here.”

“Maybe,” Alex says, wonderingly. Willie’s hair is loose around his face and there is glitter painted artfully across his eyelids. His eyes catch the light, glinting like stars, and Alex loses his breath.

“You just need to focus,” Willie offers his hand. Alex obliges. Willie’s grin is loose and sweet, “now close your eyes.” Alex follows the command dutifully, smiling to hear the low, “good,” Willie whispers in response. He presses Alex’s hand, open palmed, to his chest. “Now listen.” And Alex listens.

He hears the stillness of the space around them. Then, steadily as the pulse of Willie’s heart, that silence takes on shape and weight, awakening with muted sounds, the past coiling into the empty gaps of the present. The building settles, sharing her story in the memories that she stores safe.

“See,” Willie says, his smile revealed in the flutter of Alex’s lashes. “It’s just the music of an ordinary day.”

Alex is overcome with a rush of fondness. It spears his chest, running like a wound down his sides, staining his fingertips. He smudges that feeling down Willie’s chest, painting it the shades of Alex’s affection before pulling their joined hands back to neutral ground. Willie laughs, for no reason that Alex can see, then reaches up to the cowboy still askew on his head and places it gently, almost reverently, on Alex’s head.

“Next time,” Willie announces, grandly, “I’m getting you on that stage. I’ve seen your moves, Mercer, I know you can dance.”

Alex moves before he can give himself time to second guess, pressing his lips to the highest point of Willie’s grin, tasting his laughter. “Thank you, Willie.”

Willie clears his throat, blinking at the worn leather under their thighs, his eyes a spark of gold in the light. “It was just a hat,” his weak attempt at a joke falls flat when his voice cracks over the last word. Alex politely does not comment on it.

“Come on,” he says, pulling Willie to his feet. “Time to get you cleaned up.”

“What, don’t like my new look,” Willie jokes again, this time it lands spring-footed, prepared for Alex to return the volley.

Alex stops. Willie, unprepared, steps too close. “I like all your looks,” he says, serious.

“Huh,” Willie tips his chin up, meeting Alex’s gaze. He doesn’t say anything else as he leads Alex back to the dressing room, their hands still tethered together.

As the door swings closed, Alex hears the faint opening strings of a love song swaying in the shadows.


End file.
